


I’d Like to Personally Thank the Man Who Invented Tequila

by deirdre_c



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, it's about jared's big stick, it's not really about hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deirdre_c/pseuds/deirdre_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a simple drinking game: one shot for every goal scored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’d Like to Personally Thank the Man Who Invented Tequila

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homo_pink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homo_pink/gifts).



> Written for the livejournal spnspringfling challenge. Thanks beyond measure to neros_violin for the extra-helpful beta reading.

***

[ ](http://s1232.photobucket.com/user/spnspringfling/media/d44fc6e2-7413-4b23-b9c2-647a87e9697c_zps391ece72.jpg.html)

Jensen gives Jared’s door a couple of kicks with his toe, hands full with dinner. They’d both left the office earlier than usual because of the game, although Jensen hadn’t managed to drag himself from his desk until after 7:30, meaning a mad dash to grab takeout and change before hiking the four flights of stairs up from his apartment to Jared’s.

It’s only seconds before the door flies open. “They’re about to drop the puck, man. Get in here.” Then Jared gets a look at Jensen’s t-shirt and starts laughing. 

Jensen ignores the dimples and shoulders past. He drops the food on the coffee table, flops down on the couch, and opens one of the cold Coronas. Two empties show Jared’s started without him. “What?”

Jared points, smirking. “’Go Penis?’ You advertising now? That’ll definitely attract all the hot guys.” 

“It’s ‘Go Pens,’ you asshole.”

“Where’d you even get that shirt? I thought you were a Canucks fan.” Jared grabs the remote to unmute the pregame coverage.

“Well, they’re out, and I loathe Boston. I’m jumping on the Pittsburg bandwagon.”

“So, you’re rooting for the Penis? Hoping Penis comes out on top?”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “You’re going to ride this joke all game, aren’t you?”

“Indeed. I will ride the Penis.” Jared dips his finger into the orange-red sauce pooled at the bottom of the carton of buffalo wings, and before Jensen can dodge away, wipes a line down his t-shirt between N and S. “See? Go Penis!”

Jensen bats Jared away, willing down the flush that he always has to hide when Jared gets too handsy. It seems like it’s happening more lately, ever since Jensen broke up with the guy he’d been dating. But that’s wishful thinking. Yeah, he and Jared are both gay, and practically attached at the hip— in an unfortunately platonic way. In fact, he’s single now because he got tired of Chris complaining about all the time Jensen spends with Jared. But Jared flirts with everyone, friends and strangers alike. Handsy doesn’t mean anything.

On the television, the game starts. After the Bruins win the faceoff, Jared stretches out, resting bare feet on the coffee table, his shirt rucking up to show off a sliver of skin along the waistband of his jeans. He flashes a grin at Jensen, “Sure hope the Penis can get up for this.”

It’s going to be a long night.

They eat and talk about cases they’re working on. Jared’s got an upcoming trial, nervous about second-chairing for Pellegrino. Jensen tells his own sob stories about Kurt and Amanda each loading him down with assignments to keep him from working on the other’s briefs. Jensen will head into the office tomorrow afternoon and most of Sunday, but that doesn’t stop him from knocking back a shot when the Penguins score first. 

It’s a tradition from when he and Jared were new associates, high on landing coveted spots at Pileggi and Morgan. They’d spent weekends making up ridiculously complex beer-drinking games watching football then basketball together, but since hockey’s so low-scoring, they simplified things: one shot of tequila for every goal. Most games are pretty tame, however tonight the two teams are on fire. A flurry of scoring in the middle of the second period means the Bruins are already up 5-3.

Jensen almost knocks over his beer when he moves to put the shot glass down. Eight shots and his hands are leaden, his head too light. 

“I’m getting too old for this,” he complains, easing back into the couch. 

“Aww. You can’t give up on your Penis now.” 

Jensen sighs. If he can beat ‘em. “Just tired of getting the shaft tonight.”

Jared barks a laugh. “That’s the spirit! Still plenty of time for the Penis to go deep. I could show them a thing or two about stick-handling.”

“Your stick long enough to slap that puck?”

Jared’s smile fades, eyes sliding to the side. “You’d be surprised.” 

Jensen should take a swig of beer as a distraction. Instead, his gaze drifts down to Jared’s lap, sizing up the bulge there. He doesn’t usually allow himself the luxury of looking, but there’s no question he’s fantasized plenty about the thought of Jared being proportional. Usually in his own room with a dildo up his ass.

When he looks up again, Jared’s staring at him, cheeks mantled with red, his expression unreadable. 

From the speakers the crowd roars _again_. Jared pours another round, tequila slopping over. They drink in silence, and Jensen can’t remember feeling this awkward around Jared in a long time. He knows he should change the subject, crack a non-Penis-oriented joke, start bitching about work again. 

But the fucking alcohol speaks first. “When you said I’d be surprised, did you — you mean, amazed or disappointed?”

Jared huffs, running both hands through his hair, tucking it behind his ears. “Let’s put it this way,” he says finally, voice lower and accent thicker than usual. “I prefer pitching, but I usually end up catching, ‘cause a lot guys are intimidated by the equipment.” 

Jensen can’t believe he’s in a conversation about Jared having a massive dick. About Jared’s preferred sexual positions. They’re best friends, but they’re not _intimate_ this way. Jensen feels his own dick take notice, start to heat and fill. He shifts to relieve the pressure and sees Jared’s eyes widen as he recognizes the movement. Jensen’s just sober enough to realize if he messes up this friendship with sex, he’ll regret it forever, but he’s way too drunk to let that stop him.

He leans closer by an inch or two, not all the way into Jared’s space, but making his intentions clear. “I don’t scare easy.”

“Oh,” is all Jared replies. His lips are parted, his eyes glassy, and the thing Jensen wants second-most in the world is to reel Jared in and kiss him ‘til they both can’t breathe.

Instead, he does the thing he wants the very most. He rolls off the couch— executing the maneuver less gracefully than he’d pictured in his head— and lands with a thunk on the floor between Jared’s thighs. 

“Would you show me?” He looks up at Jared, practically fluttering his lashes and pouting his lips, because fuck if he’s not going to use every weapon in his arsenal at this point.

“Oh,” Jared says again, practically a whisper. “Oh god, yes.”

Jensen reaches for Jared’s fly, fumbling as he unbuttons and unzips, Jared lifting his hips and tugging his jeans and shorts down to his knees, letting his cock flop against his thigh and, _good Christ_ , he wasn’t lying. It’s flawless: pink and cut and, even mostly soft, it’s longer than any other dick Jensen’s seen up close and personal. 

“Fuck, Jay. You should be in porn.”

Jared’s response is thick, slurry. “I was. Back in undergrad. Needed cash pretty bad, did a couple sketchy frat-boys-go-gay videos.” His head lolls back against the couch cushions. “I freak out sometimes thinkin’ they might surface.”

Jensen files that away, knowing he’ll never rest until he finds a way to get his hands on those. But now he’s got Jared right in front of him, the musky smell of his unbelievable cock making Jensen’s mouth water. Jensen wants to suck it, to feel it grow rock hard in his mouth, to block his throat, or—

“Want you to fuck me,” Jensen says, pawing Jared’s shoulders, urging him up off of the couch. “Doesn’t have to mean anything, I know you—you don’t—it can be a one-time thing.” Jensen never wanted to be one of Jared’s one-night-stands, but he’s desperate to take what he can get.

“Jensen, that’s not—“ Jared begins, sounding uncertain, but he’s also struggling to kick off the jeans hobbling his legs. They fumble their way down the hall, Jensen bouncing against the doorframe as he tries to keep a hand on Jared and strip his own clothes off, the floor tipping and tilting. 

Naked, he falls backward onto an unmade sea of soft navy blue sheets, letting his legs fall open. All inhibitions forgotten, he rubs and pulls at his own cock, reaches down farther to massage his balls, biting his lip, putting on a show. Jared’s frozen at the foot of the bed, swaying, his gaze skittering back and forth between Jensen’s face and the hand working between his legs.

“Come open me up, Jay. I want you to get me ready to take it.”

Jared gasps and suddenly he’s flinging himself to the side table, yanking the drawer open and throwing out lube and condoms, tripping onto the bed, hands bracketing Jensen’s shoulders, his knees forcing Jensen’s thighs wider.

Jared rolls his hips down, that huge cock sliding against Jensen’s own, and Jensen has to reach up to drag Jared down into a kiss to muffle an undignified whimper. 

It’s their first kiss, and if it’s not perfect, it’s all Jensen’s fault. Because Jared’s lips are soft, gentle, his tongue sneaking out to lick sweetly along Jensen’s. But Jensen, he’s lost his mind, straining his neck to bite and worry at Jared’s mouth, hands coming up to grip the sides of Jared’s head, wanting to drown in the heady taste. He’s babbling between breaths, “Oh fuck. Fuck, Jared. Wanted you for so long. Gotta— gotta get you inside me. Jesus.”

Jared rears back, head shaking. “Wait, wait.” He struggles with the cap on the lube then reclaims Jensen’s mouth. They both moan into the kiss as Jared gets a wide palm under Jensen’s knee, pressing him up and open, one slick finger easing inside. 

Jensen writhes as Jared pushes deeper, straight to the spot that lights up every nerve in Jensen’s body. Things get fuzzy after that, and Jensen hears himself keening, begging, Jared’s voice a low rolling counterpoint urging him on. There’s more lube, fucking lube all over the place, and eventually Jared’s got four fingers in him, rotating, rubbing, so full but not full enough.

Finally, _finally_ , Jared whispers, “Turn over for me now.”

Jensen’s limbs have melted, but he struggles onto his belly. He hears Jared rolling on a condom —do they even make condoms that big?—and goddamn if Jensen doesn’t whimper with impatience like a hungry dog.

Then Jared’s covering his back, heavy and hot. There’s no more prep, no more waiting, he just fucks right in, a blunt press that goes on and on, pushing a helpless cry of relief out of Jensen. Oh, god, it’s so good, so good, the burn and the stretch and Jared’s cock filling up every last space inside him.

Jared stills, big hands tight on Jensen’s hips. “Fuck, Jensen. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Jensen pants, pushing backward, and fuck, there’s still more cock. “So okay. More than okay. C’mon, go.” He works back, arching, until Jared gets the picture and makes another thrust that plunges him all the way in. Jensen gasps again, feeling Jared shove his left hand under to fist Jensen’s cock.

Jared’s everywhere, around and inside him, everything too tight, Jensen’s vibrating right out of his skin. Jared’s moving now, dragging in and out in slow, mind-blowing rhythm with the tug on Jensen’s cock. Hot breath in his ear, “Jensen, I— I, fuck, I’m not gonna last. Are you close? Please come. Come with me.”

Jensen moans and wraps his own hand around Jared’s on his dick, urging him faster, Jared pumping his ass so hard they’re both shoving up toward the headboard. Then Jared shouts, thickens inside Jensen, seats deeper than should be possible, and Jensen’s gone too. He throws his head back onto Jared’s shoulder, _ah ah ah_ ripped from his throat. Come shoots over their joined hands, all over the mattress, and together they collapse into the mess.

***

Jensen wakes up in his own bed with a wicked hangover and an ass sore from fucking.

He limps out to the kitchen for coffee, water, and Advil, in that order, embarrassed that he fled to his apartment with Jared still passed out, but also glad he did, because he has no idea how to face morning-after drunken hook-up awkwardness with his best friend. A best friend with a dick like a baseball bat.

Jared’s dick. Jesus. Jensen doesn’t care if he walks like Igor for a week. 

He considers taking a shower, but it sounds like too much effort, so he curls up gingerly back into bed. His phone buzzes on the nightstand.

[ ](http://s1232.photobucket.com/user/spnspringfling/media/96bd20c0-c104-4fcd-8649-a780bf88c3ba_zps09c0ade2.jpg.html)

Jensen stares at the text, blinking. He has no idea what to make of it. It’s the text Jensen would’ve expected if they _hadn’t_ had sex last night.

Maybe he’ll ignore it, pretend he’s still sleeping. Then another shows up.

[ ](http://s1232.photobucket.com/user/spnspringfling/media/92fb3bd1-7561-409f-8a8e-7c278211561d_zpsf9e67ea1.jpg.html)

Cold swoops into Jensen’s stomach. Jared’s referring to the Pens joke, and not to the fact he’d screwed Jensen last night, right?

One more text, this one just says,

[ ](http://s1232.photobucket.com/user/spnspringfling/media/f1975e54-a2e4-4bb5-9cf0-b9aa44188c38_zps19bff8a1.jpg.html)

The pounding in Jensen’s head gets worse.

He’s working his courage up to reply when he hears his apartment door fly open and Jared yell, “Jensen?”

Damn, he’d given Jared a key for _emergencies_.

Jared strides in, looking like the walking dead. His hair’s plastered against his skull, bloodshot eyes vivid in a green-pallid face. “What happened last night? Did we—?” Jared trails off, possibly about to puke or cry. 

Awkward doesn’t begin to come close. “Yeah.”

“I can’t believe— Are we—Are you—“ Jared can’t seem to finish a sentence. “Did I _hurt_ you?” Oh, except for that one.

“No.” Jared’s not allowed to think he did anything wrong, regardless of how Jensen’s head and ass are throbbing. “Get in here.” He lifts up the covers, motioning to the spot next to him in bed.

Jared hesitates but crawls in, keeping to the far edge. Jensen just scoots over and snuggles up onto the nearest broad shoulder. Jared smells like the floor of a bar, but Jensen’s pretty ripe himself, so he ignores it. He’s got a cunning plan: he’s gonna ignore _everything_ for the rest of the day.

Eventually Jared relaxes underneath Jensen, tentatively wrapping an arm around him. He smiles into Jared’s chest. 

Jared, predictably, breaks the silence. “We’ve got to come up with a different drinking game.”

“I don’t know. If it weren’t for tequila and crappy goaltending, I might never have found out how great you are in bed.”

Jensen’s head bounces as Jared laughs. “Point.” 

“Hey, I wonder who won last night?”

Lips brush the top of Jensen’s head. Jared’s voice is tender as he says, “I’m pretty sure I won.”

A burst of warmth blossoms in Jensen’s chest. He suspects they might make this work after all. He tilts his head up for a real kiss, murmuring against Jared’s lips, “Go Penis!”


End file.
